


Pain Reliever

by mourntheantagonist



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e08 The Battle of Starcourt, Smut, Vomiting, and they’re in love, blow jobs are the best medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mourntheantagonist/pseuds/mourntheantagonist
Summary: Billy didn’t get headaches.It wasn’t a minor dull pain that encompassed his skull. It wasn’t something that could easily be cured with a Tylenol or whatever off brand alternative was in their medicine cabinet. It wasn’t something that came sporadically. Every once and a while having an ache brought on by a various stressor.No. Billy got migraines.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Pain Reliever

Billy didn’t get headaches. 

It wasn’t a minor dull pain that encompassed his skull. It wasn’t something that could easily be cured with a Tylenol or whatever off brand alternative was in their medicine cabinet. It wasn’t something that came sporadically. Every once and a while having an ache brought on by a various stressor.

No. Billy got migraines. 

Migraines that compared to a stabbing pain localized on one area around his head. Behind the eye. Back of the head. His temple. All the pain of a headache centralized and focused and absolute hell. A pain so strong that he couldn’t open his eyes, any light at all being too bright against his blue eyes. Loud sounds ringing and bouncing off his skull making it worse and worse. Strong smells invading his sinuses and traveling into his brain creating a fiery burn. And nothing helped. No medication easing the pain. No dietary restrictions or vitamin supplements or even fucking meditation doing anything at all. 

The pain could last for days. Even though sleep had seemed to be the only remedy, sometimes even that didn’t work. Sometimes he’d wake up in the morning and the morning sun would set fire to his eyes. 

Oftentimes the pain would get so severe he would vomit up the entire contents of his stomach, until he was spitting up bile and dry heaving into the toilet bowl. 

He’s had them since he was a kid. His father did too. Yet another undesirable trait he inherited from his father. But back then they weren’t so severe. He could generally push himself through the pain. The vomiting only ever happened on rare occasions. And sleep always got them to go away. He never woke up with a headache.

But then Starcourt had to happen. And he was in a coma for two months. And when he woke up underneath the fluorescent light bouncing off the white walls of his hospital room, his head pounded against his skull, like it was trying to escape from his body. He could hear his heartbeat echo in his head. His vision blurred and the incessant beeping of his heart monitor sending him into a craze. He slammed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and his whole body tensed. 

_ Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. _

The pain was so bad that he didn’t even recognize the gaping hole in his chest that was still healing over. Broken ribs that once punctured lungs no longer being the thing preventing him from breathing easy. The disorienting pulsating and the overwhelming nausea now being the vice. 

And when he succumbed to the nausea, when he let his stomach churn and his throat open up, there was nothing that came out. just a pathetic glob of yellow bile and air. The heaving sensation finally caused him to recognize the pain in his chest where he had been skewered. 

Billy wasn’t supposed to survive. When people asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, or what his plans were after high school. He’d tell you he didn’t know. Because he could never envision a life for himself past the age of eighteen. Couldn’t picture a life where it wasn’t his father who was standing over him as he took his final breaths. He definitely couldn’t picture a life where instead of his dad, it was a massive fleshy monster. And he most certainly would not have expected him to fucking survive it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to die tragically. With everyone around him wondering what they could have done to prevent it, but never actually caring that he died. Only giving a shit about what it did to their conscience. 

It was surprising that he was still alive. That whatever greater power there was out there had decided that it wasn’t time. It went against everything he believed for himself. It was a shock. But nothing could have prepared him for the shock of a lifetime that was Steve Harrington sitting at his bedside holding his fucking hand as he heaved into a plastic container.

Not a single thing made sense when he woke up. When he closed his eyes on the floor of that mall, he thought he’d died the villain he was destined to be. He never expected to wake up a hero in the eyes of everyone. Especially Steve Harrington. The guy he hurt without remorse. The guy who saw right through everything he did. Billy wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy. That should be so obvious. Yet here he was, in a room surrounded by bouquets from strangers with cards reading get well soon and Steve fucking Harrington fighting back tears because Billy was awake. 

Apparently Steve had been there every day. Max made him promise to take care of him, which he very reluctantly agreed to. He was doing it for Max. At least that was the original intention.

Steve started to find his own sense of purpose by seeing Billy every day. Watching as his body slowly healed itself. Steve’s life had hit such a roadblock. Working a dead end job with no outlook on his future. Seeing Billy get better gave him something to look forward to. There was a light at the end of this tunnel. And he wasn’t going to miss it.

Steve wasn’t prepared for what he was getting himself into. Wasn’t prepared to understand the full extent of Billy’s injuries and how previous injuries caused complications. He wasn’t prepared to learn who had inflicted those injuries. He wasn’t prepared to see cigarette burns constellating his upper thighs. He wasn’t prepared to wonder whether they were self inflicted or not.

Over the weeks he just kept learning and learning and sympathizing. So quickly he realized he needed to be there when Billy woke up. Needed to be there to hold his hand when his two month long dream finally came to an end. Needed to bring him back to reality when flashes of the mind flayer and his father flicked in his head. 

And nothing made sense after that. Somehow high school rivals turned into friends and then turned into more. Somehow Billy found himself waking up next to Steve in his queen sized bed and not in his double on Cherry lane. 

Well, actually. One thing made perfect sense to Billy.

Because when he went to bed with a migraine, he woke up with one as well. Sleep no longer serving as a reset button. Each morning waking up to the disappointment that the pounding in his head remained. That the light was too bright. That Steve breathed too loud. That Steve’s cologne smelled too strong. It made sense. It made sense because  _ this  _ was why he got to live. This was his punishment. Because Billy didn’t get nice things without some cost. 

And it sometimes made Billy resent Steve. Resent him for carrying him out of the mall, rather than leaving him to die. Resent him for making Billy fall in love with him. Resent him for giving him something to lose. 

But then Steve would be there, holding his hair as he threw up in the bathroom. He’d be there with a cool washcloth to lay on his forehead. He’d be there to hold him tight to distract him enough from the pain so he’d fall asleep. 

But with time they only became more frequent. So much as say the word migraine within a fifty foot radius and it was on. 

And when Billy had a migraine. They didn’t have sex. 

Steve felt like he’d be using Billy. Because he wouldn’t be into it. The pain so strong that all pleasure washed away. And Steve couldn’t continue with Billy in that state. Letting himself hurt so Steve could feel good.

But it’s been a full week now and it was only getting worse. 

And dammit Billy needed to release  _ some _ of that tension.

So there the two are in a pitch black room. Billy lying on his back with the cloth over his eyes. The only sound is Billy’s patterned breathing. Steve’s hand on his chest as it rises and falls. Trailing down to feel Billy hard in his jeans, whimpering at the touch of Steve’s hand over two layers of fabric. 

“I have an idea.” Steve whispers. “Just lay there and relax. I just want to try something.” Steve kisses his forehead gently, like he’s kissing a wound better. If only it could have been that simple. 

Steve slowly unbuttons his jeans, struggling slightly due to the lack of an ability to see. This would definitely be more hands on than usual. He maps Billy’s body with his hands, up and down, tracing his fingers along every divet, every curve of muscle. Creating a vivid visual in his mind as he eases Billy jeans and briefs to his knees. 

Steve lets his fingers trace around his groin, releasing another whimper out of Billy, and Steve can’t tell if it’s from the pain of his headache or his desperate need to be touched.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Steve whispers just loud enough for Billy to hear. His face mere inches away from Billy’s cock. Close enough that Billy can feel Steve’s breath hot against his dick. 

“Please. Don’t stop.” The pain and desperation clear in his voice. 

So Steve goes down, taking the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue and relishing the taste of pre. Steve can’t see as Billy hands move from his head to the sheets, gripping and pulling at them as his breathing quickens from just the warm touch of Steve’s tongue. His head still throbbing in his ears, a weird feeling deep in stomach that he’s unsure if it’s nausea or not. The warm mouth around his cock serving as a pleasant distraction, but not a perfect one. 

He wishes he could see Steve. But it’s dark underneath the cloth and he’s not sure he’d even be able to open his eyes anyway. So he listens intently to Steve’s gasps for air, imprints every sensation he’s feeling that Steve is providing to memory. His toes curl. His fists get tighter. Bites down hard on his lower lip as he groans. A groan that is definitely a cause of pleasure and not pain.

Steve takes Billy in deeper. Slowly bobbing up and down to match the rhythm of Billy’s breathing. Treating his own arousal with the sounds of Billy’s quiet whimpers. Rocking his hips against a pillow as he tries to focus all his attention on making Billy feel  _ good. _ Making him release the strain. 

“Close.” Billy says. It’s barely there and Steve surely wouldn’t have heard it had the room not been so quiet and void of any noise but the sounds of breathing and slow and steady movements on the bed. 

Billy’s hips buck upward just before releasing his load directly down Steve’s throat. His orgasm accompanied with a loud moan and a release of a deep breath. 

Steve continues to rock his hips against the pillow until he’s finishing into his pants at just the noises coming out of Billy. Noises that are unmistakably from pleasure.

Once he’s come down and reached his senses, Steve climbs his way up the bed until he finds Billy’s face, gently cupping the side of his cheek before planting a kiss to his lips.

“How do you feel?”

The answer. Good. Billy feels good. 

The migraine is gone.

As if whatever was infecting his brain was released by the spurt of come shot into Steve’s mouth. Pleasure sensors in his brain activating all at once to override it. 

“It’s gone.” Is all he can say. Stunned with the quick turn around. A full week of pain and all it took was Steve’s mouth and it was gone. It felt like he was freed from prison. He takes in the scent of Steve’s cologne with a deep intake of air. The fragrance mixing with Steve’s sweat and sex smell feeling so good in his nose. No burning. Just bliss. 

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely gone.”

Looks like there was a cure after all.

**Author's Note:**

> or: mandi pushes her chronic pain onto fictitional characters 🤟😔
> 
> tumblr; mourntheantagonist


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